


A Moment of Clarity

by im_the_king_of_the_ocean



Category: RWBY
Genre: Body Horror, Other, Tragedy, grimm hound!summer rose theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27726140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_the_king_of_the_ocean/pseuds/im_the_king_of_the_ocean
Summary: Summer gets to see her daughter for the first time in many years
Relationships: Ruby Rose & Summer Rose
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	A Moment of Clarity

It hurts, but then, it always hurts.Existence is just a constant ache.Soreness.Tiredness.She barely remembers who she is— _was_ —anymore.Not that it matters.Nothing matters.Not anymore.

She feels the attack coming.It’s one of the few things she can feel anymore.Is _allowed_ to feel. _Just make it quick_ , she asks her prison, knowing it probably won’t.That wouldn’t be _satisfying_.A painless kill doesn’t truly serve to draw out fear.They _hunger_ for fear.Without fear, they’ll _starve_.And, well, she’s enough gone that her sense of self-preservation has long since triumphed over her morals for the final say in this particular argument.

They attack.She doesn’t feel the claws rip into anything, but they seldom allow her that particular sensation anymore.Her fear, her horror, the wells behind those emotions have long since run dry.There’s a part of her that wants to believe she can still feel them, clings onto the ideal that, despite _everything_ , she’s remained a person.

Except she’s not.She knows that.She’s known that since…

Since…

She doesn’t remember _exactly_ what it was, but she knows it was her own failure.She’s here, she’s trapped, because of her own choices, because she foolishly thought she could…

Could…

She doesn’t know.

But, _her_ fear doesn’t feed her prison.Hasn’t for a long, long time.And so, they hunt.Somehow, in the fleeting seconds when she’s capable of conscious thought, _that_ feels like its own failure too.If she’d just been…she’s not exactly sure _what_ , but there’s an ache, a scream, within her, that constantly begs that they feed on _her_.No one else.Just _her_.

Sometimes she understands why she doesn’t want anyone else hurt.Most times she doesn’t.

A former version of herself would feel sorrow over how she locked her compassion away.How it became too painful to bear it.

She’s not that version of herself.

The movements of the attack wash over her, like waves on a beach that never knew a time before the ocean’s tides.It’s not a good attack.There is little fear to satiate themselves on.They’ll have to hunt again.She doesn’t want to.She does.

She needs to finish.

If she focuses, she can feel the air as her claws slash through it.

She instantly regrets bringing herself to awareness.

White-hot pain, unlike any she’s ever felt before, stabs into her, all of her, all at once.Her prison screams.She screams.They’re one and the same.Existence is screaming.Pure agony.

She inhales a breath, and chokes.It has been far too long since her throat— _her throat—_ has been able to gasp in anything.She retches, but nothing comes up.Fear doesn’t have a physical form and it has been so long since she’s fed on anything else.

She gasps, and chokes, and stares.There are bony hands beneath her.Bleached white like a Grimm’s, but distinctly human.Are they hers?Does she have hands?Did she ever?

There is nothing around her now.No suffocating, shifting presence.No prison.She misses it.She’s all alone now.She hated it, but it was _company_ , and now she’s alone, and she doesn’t understand, doesn’t know, doesn’t…

Something sharp is aimed at her.It hurts to look at it.The color is too intense.The red.The color is _red_.Does she truly know that?

There are sounds coming at her.She doesn’t recognize them.She can’t…She…

Words.They are words.Talking.

Someone is talking at her.Orders?Yes.No.Not like she’s used to.Demanding, though.

“Where is Oscar?!”They’re saying.She doesn’t know, doesn’t know anything.

Dark sludge falls off her, lands on the ice in front of her.She shrieks, scrambles.She needs to get away ( _get closer_ ).She doesn’t want to be consumed again ( _she does_ ).It’s not safe ( _it is_ ).

In her panic, she finds herself looking up.At the end of the long stretch of red—the weapon—is a face.What big eyes the face has, she thinks.What big, silver eyes.

“You…you…have…silver eyes…” The words come out in a mangled mockery of a sentence.They are hers.She doesn’t realize it at first.But, they are.Hers.

“What are you?” is whispered, the softest command she’s ever been given.It almost sounds like a question.A question in a voice that asked her so many, so, so long ago.

In one sweet, sacred moment, Summer remembers.She _knows_.She stares, drinking in her daughter now grown.She doesn’t…she can’t…she wants…

She feels the sludge, the Grimm, the Hound, return to her.In little bits and pieces, crawling like slugs across the ice, it comes.It wraps.It consumes.She’s drowned again.Gone.

She’s hungry. _Starved_.

There’s terror in front of her now.Enough of a meal to satiate her for a good, long while.


End file.
